“It is a student’s appeal which I make to you, Mr. Hamel,” he said, with a whimsical smile. “Here we are in my study, with the door closed, secure against interruption, a bright fire in the grate, a bowling and ever-increasing wind outside. Let us go together over the ground of your last wonderful expedition over the Andes. You will find that I am not altogether ignorant of your profession, or of those very interesting geological problems which you spoke of in connection with that marvellous railway scheme. We will discuss them side by side as sybarites, hang ourselves around with cigarette smoke, drink wine, and presently coffee. It is necessary, is it not, for many reasons, that we become better acquainted? You realise that, I am sure, and you will not persist in returning to your selfish solitude.” Hamel’s eyes were fixed a little longingly upon some of the volumes with which the table was covered. “You must not think me ungrateful or churlish, Mr. Fentolin,” he begged. “I have a habit of keeping promises which I make to myself, and to-night I have made myself a promise that I will be back at the Tower by ten o’clock.” “You are obdurate?” Mr. Fentolin asked softly. “I am afraid I am.” Mr. Fentolin busied himself with the handle of his chair. “Tell me,” he insisted, “is there any other person save yourself to whom you have given this mysterious promise?” “No one,” Hamel replied promptly. “I am a person very sensitive to atmosphere,” Mr. Fentolin continued slowly. “Since the unfortunate visit of this man Dunster, I seem to have been conscious of a certain suspicion, a little cloud of suspicion under which I seem to live and move, even among the members of my own household. My sister-in-law is nervous and hysterical; Gerald has been sullen and disobedient; Esther has avoided me. And now--well, I find even your attitude a little difficult to understand. What does it mean, Mr. Hamel?” Hamel shook his head. “I am not in the confidence of the different members of your family,” he answered. “So far as I, personally, am concerned--” “It pleases me sometimes,” Mr. Fentolin interrupted, “to interfere to some extent in the affairs of the outside world. If I do so, that is my business. I do it for my own amusement. It is at no time a serious position which I take up. Have I by any chance, Mr. Hamel, become an object of suspicion to you?” “There are matters in which you are concerned,” Hamel admitted, “which I do not understand, but I see no purpose in discussing them.” Mr. Fentolin wheeled his chair round in a semicircle. He was now between the door and Hamel. “Weaker mortals than I, Mr. Hamel,” he said calmly, “have wielded before now the powers of life and death. From my chair I can make the lightnings bite. Science has done away with the triumph of muscularity. Even as we are here together at this moment, Mr. Hamel, if we should disagree, it is I who am the preordained victor.”